Knights in Kevlar Armor

What makes you feel better? Knowing you're going to die on a certain time and date, or knowing it might happen at any moment when you least expect it?

August 17, 2020 20:17~Somewhere over the Mediterranean; heading from France to an outpost in Yemen.

Miles Pasc, Dustin Tyme, John Clark, and Bryan Turren were being moved to Yemen for purely safety purposes. They were that extra pad you wore in case your stupid stunt, and you, went south. They weren't currently in any war, but that didn't mean everyone was nice to each other. After the last wars ended the planet has been in a constant state of unease and had their hand on their hip. But that's also not to say that they didn't make any massive breakthroughs with previously undecided or even past opposition. They hadn't, but that wasn't clarified earlier, now it is. Moving on, they were all good friends who had, mostly, known each other mainly from the beginning of each of their enlistments.

But Bryan and Dustin were both blood brothers from different fathers, and John and Miles were the outsiders from their little clique. It didn't really interfere but its presence was resonated throughout their decisions. Them being outside Bryan and Dustins' special bond resulted in them forming their own connection of a sort. They were occasionally left behind during their brief times of R&R and spent it with each other as the T's did, of course referring to their last names, while they didn't share the same one they did share the same letter' leading them to take that one similarity in full stride. Again, these were subtle actions that none of them took any real note of, but it formed the basis of their friendship. They would all die for each other without a second thought, but, that didn't mean that they didn't choose sides in a biased way. Little, insignificant, things like that had a way of engraving their ways into your mind, altering your thoughts in subliminal ways.

But I digress, about the men in question. Well, Bryan was a funny and easy-going guy. He was 5'10 with soft oak brown hair with piercing  golden-brown eyes and the tattoo of a 'K' on the back of his neck, a little off to the left and downwards from the center. John though was a man whose past was riddled with disruption and shrouded in government covers. With a 5'11 stature, brown hair, and steel grey eyes. He was a serious yet comedic man at the same time. The conflicting traits often making it hard for the others to tell if he was meaning what he said or if he was just messing with them, much to his chagrin. Dustin acted as the final say if the rest of the squad was at an impasse and as his thoughts had such merit, he was their second in command, electively, oldest, and easily the biggest man in the group with his body towering 6'4. He was exceedingly proud, naturally, of his good fortunes and refused to let his enviable and envied body go to waste resulting in him dominating any sparing match, if any were so stupid as to challenge that is, and easily carry a healthy load of equipment for himself and the others.

"Hey, how much longer until we get to this shitty place?" Dustin asked as he brushed a hand through his dirty blond hair.

"Well were only ten klicks out sooo, about thirty more minutes." Miles answered, his blue eyes looking up back to Dustin from their rooms navigational system, clearly upset that he couldn't have just looked himself.

"Why can't we just be their already?" Bryan complained mockingly.

"Can it Turren, just sit back and wait." Miles' responded with a sardonic tone, picking up on Dustins' habit and running a hand through his tar-colored hair. Shifting in his seat to find a comfortable position, unintentionally causing a few pops in his back.

"Maybe we have been on this thing for a while." He stated more than asked.

"Yes! That's what I've been trying to say!" Bryan somehow managed to make that sound like an order than a real offhand remark.

"Yeah? And what do you have in mind to getting us there faster?" Dustin countered to success. Bryan had nothing. "And I think my victory stands for itself." He finished smugly.

Bryan being impossible had to respond, "Then why'd you-"

"Alright that's enough," Miles interrupted, "both of you just stop. The trip is bad enough without you two at each others' necks."

"Finally, a voice of reason." John finished.

Miles had decided he had in fact, grown tired of the trip as well and left to check on the pilots and their progression. He stood up and left through the halls of their militaries largest airship. Before leaving the room he gave its solicitors a final sweeping look and left without a word. He maneuvered through the ship with practiced ease and had to sidestep a few engineers or wait altogether as it was difficult to wend through them with his 6' frame. He quickly made it to the control room and looked at the screen, allowing him to see the uneasy stormy sky outside and the occasional flash of lightning, windows only being used if their surveillance and directory cameras were somehow disabled, allowing them to fly in all directions with their four massive yet near-silent propellers that alone were engineering brilliance resulting from years of nonstop developments and discoveries. Again, I ramble, but the ship as a whole was a truly awe-inciting apparition, capable of raining variants of death discreetly from over 13 klicks with their projectiles. At first they were launched from an air-cannon and once they were a healthy distance away their propellants would ignite increasing their velocity, maintaining their altitude, and hurtling towards their designated target. Such was the blessing of a fire-and-forget round. Again, rambling.

As Miles approached the pilots' center of operations he could hear chaos abound and feel the unease being generated and see all the statistics and progress first hand as he progressed down the steep stairs of the colosseum like infrastructure of the room, leading to the 'pit' at the bottom where all the major projectors and consoles were located. And it. Was. Shit. He couldn't read a damn thing! He decided to see if it was him, or the console, "Excuse my intrusion but, what is this?" He decided the blunt way was always less painful.

"Well, you see," that's not good, "we aren't exactly sure ourselves." The technician answered, clearly distressed.

I knew it! Always something wrong! "And what, exactly do you mean by you 'aren't exactly sure'? Do you have any idea or are you just saying that?" He put it level-headed enough, but with the kind of anger and disdain only a person in charge seemed capable of, making the technician recoil as if Miles had actually yelled.

"W-well yes we do actually," sweat starting to bead his person as he tugged at his collar, "but it's, it's unheard of!"

"Go on."

"We-well it's just a lightning storm with F2 winds and our compensators have been effectively working against that! But that's all there is! There's nothing out of the ordinary that could be causing the disruptions! Lightning isn't even a possibility either! Our re-routers located all over the hull and exoskeleton absorb the blasts and run them through enough to manageable levels powering our compensators! There shouldn't be such distortions!" He concluded, giving Miles no 'whys' or 'hows', leaving him thoroughly pissed, but you had to be gentle with these eggheads, 'less you break them.

"Ok, what I'm hearing, stop me if I'm wrong, is that you don't know what's wrong? Yes?"

"Um, well not just me b-"

"Yes?" Miles repeated more forcefully.

"W-yes." The technician finished defeated.

"Ok, now, if nothing else is present that could cause this, it must be the machinery."

"Now wait just a minute!" They always got so protective of their robots, "This is an HART-72! The latest in war technology! And just technology in general for that matter! So no, it isn't the machinery!" He finished in an extremely indignant tone.

"I know what it is, I want to know how it is." Miles said in a mock threatening voice, "Because if it isn't any outside force than it has to be something inside." He finished in a lighter tone.

"Allow me to reiterate, we, don't, know. But what we do know is that you can expect some turbulence later on."

'This guy's getting a little full of himself.' "And allow me to quote a jackass, 'our compensators on this latest in technology have been effectively working.' Any of that, ringin' a bell?"

"Yes and no," oh you gotta be kidding me, "while they have been working, the displacements caused by the increasing F2 are causing some...some unexpected blips."

"Blips?" Miles sprayed with ill-hidden displeasure. "How could an F2, minus the lightning, be causing, 'blips'?"

"Well our, uh, our compensators have been , showing signs of failure."

"Going out?" Miles was nearly yelling by this point and drawing the gaze of any others in the room who hadn't already been watching with mild amusement as the techy was getting grilled by the Marine. "What do you mean-"

And at that exact moment a burst of rounds went off and was followed by brief screams before those too were silenced and a man barking orders took their place.

"What was that?" Miles shouted before leaving without waiting for an answer.

Back in their hangers

"Holy shit! What was that? I didn't know we had a shooting range!" Dustin boomed.

"We don't!" John answered, "Gear up men! I think we're in for some action!"

"But who would be stupid enough to attack us!" Bryan said as he stumbled to his feet.

"Some M.E.'s who don't notice an American 72!" John replied with a hint of pride as he put on his gear. As they were getting prepared Miles came through the door with an insane claim, "They're inside and were friendlies, the Stormhunters are subjugating!" The irony was lost on him for the moment as he explained what he had heard and seen on his way there.

"What?" Shouted Dustin. He was answered only by the dutiful clanks of charging handles being successfully drawn and the click of magazines striking home. "Well fine then if we're gonna do this," he began as he too grabbed a gun, an M27 in his case, from the unceremoniously opened weapons rack, "we're going to do this right!" He finished while slamming his personalized 100 round mag in place. He obviously had no care for defectors, once Brothers in Arms or not.

"And what the hell are you going to do with that clunky piece?" Bryan taunted, already knowing the answer his brother loved giving, while he himself was already equipped with a clever comeback.

"It's called cover and suppressing fire! I get paid to waste an unnecessary amount of rounds as long as I've got them to shoot!" Dustin laughed with an obvious amount of giddiness. He always loved to say that was the whole point of his position, and it sounds like it too, but everyone present knew that wasn't the case so they didn't bother responding to what seemed to be a ritual between the two. That and they didn't want to irk the wrath of a protective, trigger-happy, tank.

"Well in case you forgot, we're on an airship! You can't just be dropping lead curtains on them here!" If there was one safe way to counter Dustin it was a healthy dose of Common Sense. Anything else will have...less than desired effects.

"Oh, yeah. I just got carried away is all." Dustin finished, noticeably deflating.

"That's alright Tyme," Miles began, "you can still use the nonlethal rounds we've got. And don't sound so happy about taking down these insurgents. They were once one of us too you know."

"I don't give a damn! They took an oath! They swore their allegiance! And they just shat on the honor of our entire purpose!"

"Be that as it may," John intervened, "but we are still required to use nonlethal force unless required or met with deadly opposition. That's why my last mag is all hollow points." He said with a resolute latch of his Scout Tact.

"Nonlethal? I didn't even know we had those.' Dustin said, thoroughly surprised, with that old battle flame reigniting, "Well I like your thinking. To bad they don't have rubber rounds in my caliber. Well I'll just have to use my Nitro! If the 15 pellets of rubber doesn't stop them," he explained, "I've got 27 pellets of buck and one big slug to change their mind after that." It's a thought. "And I've always got my M4 to top it off."

"Well played Dustin, you've successfully found and exploited a loophole in the law used to prevent the unnecessary taking of lives." John said without sounding happy in the slightest. Of course he was being sarcastic, but he sure sounded and looked serious.

"Well John, when you put it like that, I frankly don't give a damn either way, and coming from you-"

"Knock it off! We need to move out!" Miles said with a resounding snap of the charging handle on his MP5 and the final slam on their standard 1911, however his was engraved with symbols translated into 'unknown' or 'unfound' by some ungodly existence. "All right helmets on masks off!" They all donned their helmets and secured them with their air-lock to prevent any awkward sliding around and then pressed a button located on their neck, causing the bullet proofed piece of armor into a discrete position inside their helmet. "Radios on masks down!" They then pressed the same button without a word and activated their local broadband radios which enabled them all to talk to each other, only to each other unless unanimously changed to an open receptor setting, they can talk at the same time, and not be heard outside unless their speakers are turned on, with different levels of amplification when on, or they could open a vent located right in front of their mouths. They each had a different colored shield, Miles with the leading black, Dustin with gold, Bryan with red, and John with white. Each of their full body suits, or exoskeletons, were each accented with their appropriate color, to match their visors. Besides Miles who went the whole nine yards and wore a full black suit, truly trippy.

As they left the room it was all quiet except for the obvious sounds of movement happening at most only a hundred feet from their position that the average ear would've missed, but as their helmets amplified their voices, it also increased their vision and detected the slightest noises, doubling as a muffler droning out anything loud enough to cause discomfort. They covertly slipped through the halls and checked around corners following the sound of more shots and screaming before they went down an exceptionally long hallway and heard, "Armed loyalists sighted! Open fire!" Before they even had a chance to look for cover Dustin, the largest target, was struck in the back of his chest. "Dustin!" The three of them shouted, as they turned around in formation to return fire, their speakers being set to normal in case they met any bystanders to tell them to find a safe place and lay low. "Argh! Holy shit that hurts like a bitch! Thank God this guys only using small arms!"

"He's not! He just skinned you!" John said, "You're bleeding all over the place! Get down and out of sight!" He finished with a quick shot to their oppositions leg, straight to the knee, causing a jaw-grinding snap as the hostile was incapacitated, moaning on the ground. "Quick! Go over there and restrain him before he tries any final stand bullshit!" Miles ordered. And Bryan complied. As he began walking over there Miles said, "Be gentle with him, we still need to run him through the system."

"I am the system Miles," Bryan said, seething as he passed, "Judge, jury, and executioner. And don't worry, I'll get some questions in, I'm a fair reaper."

"No, seriously don't. That's an order and you are not to go against directive." Miles barked warningly.

"Fine, I'll restrain him." He left, leaving the others to patch up his brothers wound. And when he covered the distance to his prey he was more than happy to see that the standard's unit of defense wasn't built to withstand such an attack. Meaning his leg was definitely broken, and what appeared to be two places surprisingly enough, the knee obviously, and the ankle appeared to be, shattered rather than broke. 'The power to his leg must've cut when he got blasted and he dropped on it as he tried to go back around the corner' He thought. "Hey smartass what did you think you were going to do against a squad of Pacifying Marines?" There was no response but ragged breathing and grunts of pain. "Well it certainly looks like Pacifier damage been done to you. But looks aside, how's it feel?" He continued with a savage grin. "Because it definitely looks like it hurts, a lot!" He then proceeded to kick the idiot's gun to the side, "Hostile restrained!" He shouted over his shoulder. But his weapon was just far enough to give him the ghost of an idea to grab it. That becoming the case Bryan would have to eradicate him in self-defense. After that bit of devious thinking Bryan stepped closer to the wounded man and mimed stepping on his knee. "NO! Don't! Please don't!"

"Are you honestly begging me not to hurt the fucker who went against his flag, killed innocents, and shot my brother! What's your name!" He furiously demanded rather than asked.

"My brand is Trevor," He spat, "and what do I have? A wife, three hungry kids, and enough unjustified debt to put a dent in a small countries treasury. I needed this. They needed this. They promised me a way to change that. You are blind and your leaders are corrupt! They promised me freedom from the deluded existence of your country! They offered me a deal no sane person would refuse!"

"And look where it got you, a broken leg and a stab to your dignity." Bryan quietly put it.

"And look where this got you. You didn't actually think I could be the only one smart enough to see over the wall of transgressions your government has built around you." Wheezed Trevor.

"Re-routers and exoskeleton powering off" A monotonous computerized voice stated. And at that Trevor took one last breath and put the end of his recently moved 45. into his mouth. He noted that the last thing he'll ever taste was the cold steel of his gun, not the sweet taste of his lover's embrace. Live by the gun, die by the gun...But Bryan was too occupied with the meaning behind the announcement to notice his 'restrained' target's deft movements before the universal language of a gun going off and the telltale sound of a skull imploding followed by the distinct noise of brain to floor/wall combo. "Well nice job!" John said from his advantageous view point, over Bryan's shoulder. He had seen enough, Bryan got up, fumigated the pink mist gathered on his visor, and turned around to check on his brother. As he approached Miles had something to add, "Why'd you do that? I told you to restrain him and to not deal with him! We have systems for a reason, this isn't the wild west where the law is made by the toughest guys on the block!"

"I didn't, I had restrained him, and I know." Bryan responded without much thought, why was the truth so easy to say?

"Then how'd that mess get there? He make it himself?" Miles said almost laughing.

"Yes. He offed himself." Bryan bluntly put it.

"And how'd he manage to do that? 'Restrain' means that you take away his weapons and subdue the target!"

"There's the kicker," Dustin moaned, "what'd you do this time Bryan? Leave the gun next to him."

"Shut up D!"

"I said stop calling me that!"

"Anyway, yes, I did. But only because his knee was busted and his ankle was shattered. I'm not saying any names but I am looking at you John."

"And?" John pointed out, as he was playing watch at the end Trevor was at.

"Good point, that prick had it coming." Bryan reconciled. "But a rather unnecessary amount of force don't you think Miles?"

"Turren, I'm only going to tell you once," Miles began, deathly serious, "a few broken bones we can mend. But a dead body is a useless informant in an interrogation."

"Well how's it my fault the cadaver won't cooperate?"

"IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT HE'S A CADAVER!"

Suddenly a jolt went throughout the craft as the lights flickered and the automatic doors open and closed sporadically.

"What was that?" Bryan pursued.

"The shields are down smartass! We're open to the elements now!" Dustin shouted.

"Screw you Dustin, you better now? Let's move." Bryan finished while picking up his brother.

"Argh damn! Why would you do that?"

"Because you haven't passed out yet, you're standing just fine, and there's an unknown number of defectors on the loose as well as potential survivors from their onslaught waiting to be rescued AND we might be shot down by the M.E.'s or sweet mother nature."

"Stop, just stop." John said, returning from his uneventful scout ahead as he loaded in a new mag of nonlethal rounds that seemed very much so in fact, lethal. But with a much more interesting effect on the body.

"Well, I'm up now so let's go!" Dustin proclaimed. And they moved through the halls, eventually weaving their way into the central control room only to find, it was packed with insurgents. But unbeknownst to them the Pacifiers were quietly filling up each of the four exits and quickly and silently dispatching any who came through, discarding the bodies in a pile nonchalantly. With their helmets set and radios on they counted the total within the room and tallied their kills to keep track of the total count, as well as creating a sort of competition between them. Resulting in some risky advances such as making noises to draw the opposition or waving an arm with said oppositions' body as a hand gesture to draw them nearer. Obviously the last crashed and burned, and speaking of crash and burns, no, we'll get to that. As Bryan, that dumbass, tried his most recently thought idea he lost his grip, letting the body drop with a horribly echoing noise. "Uh, guys? I think shit just hit the fan."

"WHAT?" Three, angry, loud, distorted, and simultaneous voices doesn't agree with ones ears. And since they were all connected they could feel it, less intense but still shit.

"DAMN!" The four of them sounded. "Yeah I know! I was caught! I repeat they found my ass!"

"THERE GOES THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE!" Miles roared as his brilliant plan went up in flame, I'm getting there.

"Let's at least try to get the first shots in! Lethal or not these lay enough pain on the receiver's end to dissuade any retaliation!" And with that John opened fire with a single, skilled, practiced, and precise shot straight to the Hunter nearest Bryan. Landing squarely at the base of the neck. The assailant dropped without skipping a beat. "Seventeen to go!" He yelled as he pulled back the bolt on his customized rifle, allowing a swift and clean extract for the spent round and an opening for the new shot patiently awaiting its departure as well.

"Sixteen!" Dustin called as he dropped another with a quick spread shot to his front scattering over the top half of his chest and peppering his face with rubber shot. "Onto the beanbags!" He joyously stated.

"Fourteen!" Mile claimed

"You skipped one!" Bryan reprimanded.

"Like hell I did! I got these bastards in my sights!" He smugly claimed recalling as he double tapped the defectors who tried to run though his entrance. 'Surprise! I told them it would work!'

"It looks clear from my end! I'm going to try and run to cover to get a better sight on them!"

"Bryan no! Just stay there and wait for them!" John ordered, he always took the reigns of the situation, besides Miles, when it came to a firefight. Even more so he could because he was placed in their group! Hand picked by the big man!

"Too late!" He said as he sprinted behind the nearest wall.

"Damn you, you idiot!" Dustin yelled, already aggravated from his hit with the first beany round failing to instantly drop his target, of course he'd never tell anyone about that.

"Then I guess I've got nothing to worry about!" Bryan repeated his favorite comeback for that particular insult.

"Thirteen, *click* twelve, *clack* and eleven." John calmly stated as he drew back on the bolt yet again and let another 'nonlethal' round at another insurgent's stomach, successfully doubling him over and making him immobile. Taking aim again from his perfectly covered spot at the second to top row, a small gap between two terminals allowing him to view the entire scene.

"What?" Miles shouted, crushed that his double-strike was belittled so easily.

"Ten and nine!" Bryan exclaimed clearly happy his small-scale invasion worked. "Close in they've lost it!" He finished as watched their dwindling militia got smaller and smaller as they were stealthily taken down.

"Why? Won't? You? Stay? Down!" Dustin raged as his beanbags simply gleaned off their armor. "John's rubber bullet BROKE one of your guys' knees and I can't even touch you? Fuck this!" He finished as he gave up on the bean bags and switched over to his M4.

"Eight-seven-six! Take that you bunch of traitorous fucks!" He laughed as his rubber bullets made repeated contact, as they dropped, and after they fell.

"Ah shit they've seen me again!" Bryan perfectly stated as he attempted another delve through the frontline.

"What is wrong with you?" Miles demanded as they finally found the sources of their demise and returned fire.

"I thought I-"

"No you didn't! I never said you could move up! We were making perfect progress without advan-" He was cut off as one bullet cut through the center of his throat.

"Miles? Miles what happened?" Dustin called but received no response.

"He's dead Dustin, one to the throat and out the back. Clean." John deadpanned. "It was painless."

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN IF IT WAS CLEAN OR PAINLESS! IT SHOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED!" He thundered.

"That doesn't matter though, we need to keep going and clearing out the defective." John again deadpanned, "As the previously second highest rank here you'll be taking orders from me, and I'll remind you that I've got a snug little spot hidden away up here with both of you in my sights." This was cause for a moment of silence for both Miles and their uncomfortable new head of command. John was not one to cross, especially when he had you in his sights with 'nonlethal' rounds in the chamber.

"Just sit tight and let me clear what I can, and watch my back in case any of these guys decide to play the clever idiot." He said in that same robotic voice.

"Yeah, ok." Was the most Bryan could say as he was battling with conflicting feelings, had he gotten Miles killed?

"Five...four......three, two aaaand one." John finished, ejecting his third spent magazine, inserting the next and cycling the first round in.

"Well that was a lot easier. Why hadn't you done that bef-" Multiple lightning bolts struck the HART-72, interrupting Dustin with a massive power outage causing the massive aircraft to plummet towards the Earth.

Emergency windows open that same voice said as it too went out. Allowing the remaining conscience men onboard to see the happy border of sturdy looking country ground, via clever but simple mirror system throughout the ship. "Great! Instead of going to the depths we're going out in an enormous explosion! Just fantastic!" Bryan said, always the pessimist.

But John being the realist said, "No, we won't just go in an explosion, first the ship will burrow into the ground a couple of miles, leaving behind a trail of burning debris judging from the angle. Then as the fuels and munitions towards the center get tossed about first we'll burn, then we'll explode."

"Thanks John, just the words I wanted to hear before dying, real positive." It was Dustin's turn to deadpan.

"Did you want me to lie to him? Supportive words won't do anything for us." John said as he sat and put the chair's seatbelts on.

"And what the hell are you doing?" Bryan asked confused and mad.

"Significantly increasing my chances. The center of a vehicle is the safest place to be after all. And another point to my survival." He finished as he began clearing debris from behind him.

"Really? And that now is?" Bryan commented, apparently with enough life in him to contradict his friends.

"Well I don't want to be struck with these, you know that's how most automobile deaths happen, not from the crash itself but the flying debris turned missile." He finished with extra emphasis on the last 'i' in missile.

"You're unbelievable," Dustin began, "but the man speaks truth." And he too sat down and put on his seatbelt, all debris to have fallen to the floor as their incline increased.

"Well if everyone's doing it!" Bryan spat while he tossed his arms into the air, "I might as well too!" He had a harder time as row had two unconscious defectors. He spared them each a swift kick to the head as he passed. "Now what?"

"Now we wait." Dustin stated simply.

"Wanna play twenty que-" Bryan started seriously. But it appeared the universe did not want to play such games, it has had enough! Because as he asked another surge of power worked through the HART, coupled with another barrage of lightning, they all took a breath and everything went dark.

The light has returned. Lot's of light. 'I better not have been in a coma.' Bryan thought brusquely. He opened his eyes to find even more stunningly bright light, and he sat in a room with a flashbang, it was strictly a dare. But trivialities aside, when his eyes and visor adjusted to the light, he saw something that took him back. Making sure his suits broadband was still on he called to his brother, "Dusty. Dustin! I see...I see mini horses...in hazmat suits! And they're rifling through our things!"

"I told you to stop smoking that shit Bryan! And stop calling me 'Dusty'!"

"But I'm not! Just look! One's looking the other way! At a fucking chair!"

"I'm serious Bryan! You wake me up when still playing with that I'm going to run you through, and beat the shit out of your flying ass! Now, I'm going to humor you so you don't lose it, again, and when I see the room full of nothing, I'm going to make you promise again to quit that, for the last ti-" He stopped as he saw them too, even the one his brother specified. "I swear on Miles' fucking memory that if you slipped some of that in my drink I'm gonna kill you." He said, failing to notice they weren't at home anymore.

'Such...such advanced technology! It's a scientists dream here!' He thought, absolutely ecstatic at the thought of foreign life. He began furiously scribbling down notes in that familiar scrawl that all 'advanced' minds seemed capable of. 'Even the most inane purposed tool is fascinating!' He continued with his chicken-scratch as he observed...a screwdriver. 'Simply fascinating! Such craftsmanship! It's a shame none of the subjects had shown signs of life.' Of course he was referring to the deadlocked armor suits they wore that was personalized to each of their bodies, otherwise they would have seen that they all, well most, had shown signs of life and they were very much alive. A few even reaching consciousness. He continued to walk through the many rows of consoles, computers, and bodies, noting how strange it was that they all had the overall same...exoskeleton, as they came to call them, with only slight variations on three of them. 'It appears there was trouble in here before they crashed,' he noted, observing the bruised body of one of the insurgents Dustin had unloaded on discovering the effectiveness of  the rubber rounds the size of a large cork. Subjects are suspected to have been violent, even amongst themselves. One would almost be relieved none survived as they might have attacked innocent ponies. A cold thought but valid given the evidence. He continued to wend through the fallen debris strewn about, 'But a true shame nothing has made it unscathed.' He was, of course referring to the machines, but those just aren't hoof compatible and some require a passcode. 'By Celestia, what was that?' He thought as movement occurred out of the corner of his exceptionally large vision.

"JOHN!" Bryan continued to try and reanimate his unconscious comrade from his same position he woke up in, his suit's display unit within the visor showed him as alive, and with a steady heartbeat, but he couldn't trust that because it also showed Miles as alive, and he watched him die, and even had it confirmed. "JOHN GODDAMN IT ANSWER ME!" His brother having long since muted him.

"What Bryan? What could it possibly be this time?" John moaned, too lazy to move.

"Stay absolutely still John, because I've got something to tell you. Stay still ok! Promise!"

"Several armies couldn't move me right now."

"Good," Dustin said, "because we're trying to remain inconspicuous."

"We died remember?"

"...."

"John?" Bryan prodded.

"...."

"John you ok man?" Dustin asked.

"Hoh-lee SHIT!" John yelled, still not moving, taking orders and promises seriously. "The seatbelts! I told you!" John exclaimed, uncharacteristically verbal and...genuinely happy. "And? Anything else?"

"Well yes actually," Dustin began, "I would like a third opinion on whether or not Bryan spiked my drink."

"Again? And why?"

"Because there's mini-horses in hazmat suits going through out stuff." Bryan finished matter-of-factly.

"I think I'm going to need a drink now."

"Nonono! We're serious! Look at the one on your left, IT EVEN HAS A HORN!" Dustin exclaimed, all serious, all surprise.

"I swear if you guys are fuckin' with me I'm going to shoot you both in the ass with a few of my rubber bullets."

"Good thing we're not then." Bryan said exasperated.

John ever so slowly turned his head over, and when he finished he nearly choking on all the dust from his shattered beliefs. "What is that?"

"Well judging from the horn I'd have to say it was a unicorn." Dustin finished smugly, however when he saw just the mini-horse in a hazmat suit he nearly shit a brick. Only after much needed silence, contemplation, and self-searching did he come to terms. He didn't have the faintest clue and he would have to deal with it.

"Well?" Bryan asked.

"Well what, stop screwing around!" John said not the one to play around.

"Well, anyone got a plan yet?"

"I think our friend there already has one" Dustin announced.

"Our friend?" Bryan questioned as the room cleared of any other ponies besides the one at the bottom.

What-what happened? Did we win? He thought as he got up, grabbing the nearest weapon by him, a UMP in 45., feeling the multiple bruises on his body where the giant's bean bags (fuck you) had hit him, and then inevitably ending his awareness with a brief and sloppy butt stroke (fuck you again). "I'm gonna kill that piece of shit when I find him. Him and all his loyalist friends!" He yelled into the oppressive silence of his mask, reminding him no one else could hear him, and of all he'd lost because they couldn't handle four ignorant people. Wh-what's that? He thought and froze as he too saw the ever-popular mini-horse. And why's it in that ridicules getup?

H-how? He thought frightened by the towering giant, dominating over his own previously considerably tall stature of 4'2, They had no signature! He noted again remembering their thorough scan of their 'exoskeleton', their magic not being able to bypass the dense material. He shook himself back to reality and took a step back consequently resulting in the giant to take a step forward, his hydraulic parts hissing ominously, visor reflecting menacingly, no sign of life, just a dead, uncaring gaze. I-it's ok Radon, maybe it's just cultural differences or it just wants to interact. Yeah! It just wants to communicate! Radon moved closer to the strange anomaly which caused it to take a step back as well. "Hell-oh th-air! Well-come to E-quest-ria." Radon's first words to foreign life.

"What was that?" Bryan asked as the pony made a noise, its suit muffling its voice to their distance.

"What was what? It looks like they're just having a stare down from up here." John inquired.

"Yeah I think I heard something too," Dustin added, "do you think it was...talking?"

"I wouldn't put it past them." Bryan answered tiredly.

"I'm pretty open to anything right now," John began, "Keep an eye out for anymore, and watch him!" He finished.

"Did it really just talk to me?" The man said into his visor as the pony continued to watch him, tensed to run if he tried anything. "Hello my name Ste-" He started before remembering his helmet was still locked. "My name is Stephan. Welcome aboard the HART-72." Stephan said after he had released the vent with a hiss.

It can TALK! And fluent Equish! Radon thought caught completely off guard. What should I say back? I don't want to seem like an idiot! I don't want to start a *war*! "Um, hello St-Stephan was it?" He began, having trouble with such a strange name, "My name is Radon, and you are in Equestria, a large country on Tellus united under the two princesses, Celestia, the princess of the day, who raises and lowers the Sun, and Luna, the night princess, who raises and lowers the Moon." He finished, giving a lot of their world's boundaries away without even noticing, but their recipient had no foundation to put it on, leaving him even more clueless than before.

Royalty? Pagans? Horse puns and inane names? Well let's play it sa- Was the furthest Stephan got to think before he heard movement behind him and whirled around to find its proprietor. Upon noticing the very same techy Miles had been yelling at he fell into his old training and fired on sight. One echoing crack, two bodies, and the rushing of feet and hooves resounded through the halls of the HART-72.